


We're All Going To Be Just Fine

by RobinTrigue



Series: Emotionally Supportive Shorts [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Self Care, wholesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:16:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8045512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinTrigue/pseuds/RobinTrigue
Summary: A series of vignettes following different people, each having a really nice day. They feel good about themselves and do nice things and get a full night's sleep.





	We're All Going To Be Just Fine

Dean drank in the morning light and smiled. Today was the first day he didn’t feel bitter or angry or hurt over losing his title. He was a great fucking wrestler, fuck it: he’d get it back someday, probably soon. Until then, what’s the point in beating himself up? Sometimes things don’t go your way, and that match was one of them.

Everyone had been really nice about it, Finn especially supportive via text, but Dean seriously wasn’t dwelling on the loss today. He woke up with that song in his head, you know the one? Whatever, he couldn’t remember the name of it, but it was nice, one of those really upbeat tunes that goes _bah-bah-babah-dadah_. Fuckin’ kickass. It’s just a nice song, you know, so he booted up his walkman and slipped in the CD, did a little air guitar in bed like a badass before making his way over to the kitchen.

He’d been vaguely thinking about scrambled eggs or maybe just chugging a bottle of chocolate milk and throwing up everywhere later on, but when he opened the fridge he found it was still full of the shit Roman had brought last time he stayed over: really fancy fruit salad with loads of blueberries, two-thirds of a tray of brownies, a couple of bottled smoothies. They were the kind of smoothies that had labels on them written in the first person, saying shit like “I’m made from happy plants and love to keep your guts free from GMOs,” and all that. The fancy kind that are probably more nutritious than anything Dean had eaten for the first twenty-five years of his life.

It was the brownies that did it; Dean called in sick to work, coughing his lungs out on the phone to Shane like he was Ferris fucking Bueller, damn that was a good film, then took his underwear right off. This right here was a no-underwear breakfast, full relaxation time begins now. Let that gorgeous body _breathe._ He grabbed four of the brownies, threw them on a plate after a moment of indecision, and took them and the fruit salad over to the sofa. He flicked on the TV, scrolling through the list of cartoons and something must have been smiling down on him because there was an all-day marathon of Adventure Time. He kicked back and let the good times roll, eating his fruit salad straight from the serving bowl until he’d had enough.

Adventure Time was such a ridiculously great show. There was that one episode that always made him cry, but it was sandwiched between two others that were Finn and Jake’s usual hilarious and fun adventures, so Dean had an overall positive experience. After the second brownie though, he found himself in desperate need of a glass of milk, the regular kind, so TV off, beverage drunk, and god it was fucking gorgeous outside. Dean pulled on some clothes, grabbed his keys, and hit the town.

He was still dead set on not talking to anyone today, just a nice quiet day for ol’ Deano. He went first to the deli, ordered three sandwiches with all the sliced meats and fancy mustards they had, then wandered over to the park to eat one. He clearly wasn’t the only one who’d decided to come out and enjoy the weather: there were kids running around screaming as they soaked each other with water guns, some college students who were either doing amateur Shakespeare or LARPing. He listened to them for a while, wiping Dijon off his chin with the sleeve of his jacket. It was a good story, something with a ghost and some betrayals and then somebody got hit with a giant laser and exploded.

A kid ran into Dean as he went to throw the sandwich wrapper away, so he grabbed her supersoaker and got some good sprays in before the rest of the clan had him surrounded, dousing him with water like he knew they would, all the fury of a dozen nine year olds united towards a common purpose. He got on his knees and begged surrender, laughing his ass off as he handed the girl back her toy. She grinned at him. One of her front teeth was only half grown in; teeth are kind of weird when you really think about it. Cute kid though.

He went over to the meadow-y, grassy whatever and lay there for a bit, still kind of out of breath from laughing that hard. His hair dried slowly in the sun. There were so many flowers around, more than there probably should be for this time of year? What time of year are flowers, they’re April and stuff, right, not September? Whatever. Dean knew they were only daisies and shit, but nothing’s ever _only_ a daisy, you know? That lil plant _grew_ , from _nothing_ , and sure people step on it and don’t really notice it’s there, but there’s still fucking hundreds of them with like a hundred petals each. That’s like, the most impressive shit to ever happen. Dean’s thirty years old and he’s never grown a single petal, you know? Held a couple championships, sure, but flowers, they get their energy from the sun and the ground and they can’t even _move_ anywhere, they just sit there and grow and grow and smell nice and look pretty as anything. Fuckin’ _daisies_ , man. That’s where it’s at.

He tried to count the petals on the one nearest his head without picking it, but he had to start over two or three times because it was so warm in the sun, even with his jacket off. Maybe he dozed off a bit, maybe he just got distracted thinking about weird junk like how if you need air to talk but ghosts don’t need air, does that mean space ghosts can talk to astronauts in space? Either way, Dean didn’t really snap to attention until a giant dog appeared out of nowhere and started slobbering over his face. He laughed and shoved it off. It jumped on him when he stood up, paws the size of dinner plates, and he fluffed its shaggy head. It looked like one of those dogs in the cartoons with brandy, the kind that lives in the mountains and rescues skiers. He’d always kind of wanted a huge dog like this, something to shed everywhere and fart in the bed. This one seemed to like him a lot. Dean found a stick to throw to it, and it fetched it back and everything. Its actual owner whistled to it from across the park before too long, but it was getting late anyway.

“Bye, dog!” he yelled to it with a wave, but the dog didn’t acknowledge him. It was a fucking dog, after all. So Dean headed home, ate the other sandwiches with one of the healthy-ass organic fruit drinks. He stretched. He felt weirdly tired for a day where he didn’t do any actual work, and weirdly sweaty. He decided to hit the shower.

When he got to the bathroom, he hesitated for a second. Might as well do this day of luxury correctly, right? So he cracked open the bath set Carmella had given him forever ago for Christmas. There was a fluffy green loofa, candy cane body wash, gingerbread cookie shampoo, and something that claimed to be ‘sparkle snowflake bath salts.’ Everything smelled great, even if it wasn’t actually seasonally appropriate. Dean generally washed by rubbing a bar of soap everywhere, but he was lead to understand that actual shampoo and conditioner could give his hair stunning volume and bounce, so shit yeah he was up for a beauty parlour. He was actually kind of astounded they could fit such a strong peppermint smell into such a tiny bottle, but when he gave it a little taste it tasted the same as regular soap, so that was gonna have to stay a mystery. The gingerbread one tasted like regular soap too.

The bath salts didn’t come with instructions, so he poured a handful onto the floor of his shower. They made a really nice crunching feeling under his toes, and if that was what they were meant to be doing then five stars, it felt super great. He used warm water instead of scalding hot; it was nice to feel his muscles relax under the flow without having to choke on steam. He should do this more often. He could _feel_ his skin getting cleaner, like he wasn’t just washing off the last couple days but the last couple weeks. Felt good.

By the time he got out, Dean’s skin felt all tingly and he smelled as cozy and festive as a reindeer-shaped apple pie, which wasn’t bad for early fall. He wore the towel around his shoulders like a cape until he was dry.

He went to the kitchen, had one last brownie and a swig of milk. He left his dishes to do in the morning. He brushed his teeth. He pulled on a pair of fresh underwear to sleep in, the pack he’d recently bought so it was still cotton-y soft and not covered in those little lint balls. It was only ten thirty, he could have stayed up and watched a sweet horror movie, but instead, Dean decided to go to bed early. It started to rain outside; no thunder, just the soft _tap-tap-tap_ against the window lit up by streetlamps. He fell asleep without difficulty and got a full night’s rest. He had nice dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Dean has a shower and eight hours sleep' is the sort of wild AU crack fic I've been meaning to write for a while now, and I guess today's the day it finally happened. :) This series will be updated super irregularly, but I have got a couple other chapters semi-planned out so. Yeah. I look forward to writing them. <3


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